Always a Gentleman
by wordsmith-storyweaver
Summary: Collection of drabbles, ficlets, one-shots, and prompts for Captain Swan. These will all have sexual themes and may contain offensive material.
1. Just Benefits

Based off of this Gif set: post/90376593141/cs-au-week-day-3-modern-day-cs-just-sex.

Her phone chirps at her—literally. One short, sweet tone of a bird chirping alerts her to an incoming text from one very specific individual. She has no doubt what it will say, but she smiles to herself before sliding her finger across the screen of her smart phone to open the message. _Copy room in ten._

At the prestigious law firm of Mills, Gold, and Blanchard the only people who end up actually using the copy room on a consistent basis are the poor college students who desperately need the internship hours for their law degrees; the attorneys pass stack after stack and case file after case file down to their secretaries, who hand them off to the lowly and often unpaid interns. Time wasted in the copy room can range from ten seconds, if you're lucky, to more than three hours if you aren't; and if you're extremely lucky, you manage to squeeze in your copy job before the rest of the interns get their assignments.

It should also be noted that like all good lawyers, the firm has a strict non-fraternization policy covering any and all romantic relationships between the interns, the secretaries, the paralegals, and the attorneys. Not that the playboy, hotshot partner who specializes in divorce and family law, Killian Jones, has ever given a bloody damn about the firm's policies. When Emma finally reaches the door to the copy room, she quietly chuckles at the improvised sign that lists it as off limits for the next hour. She turns the knob any way and quickly finds herself pinned against the solid oak panel, face pressed against the door and a long, hot line of masculine flesh pressed against her back. She sees a calloused, long-fingered hand reach around her body and click the lock into place before that same hand possessively grips her hip and slides roughly over her ass.

"Why, Ms. Swan again! I thought we discussed your blatant disregard for company memos already this week. Did you or did you not read the sign posted on the opposite side of this door clearly stating in plain English that the copy room was to be considered off limits to subordinates and inferiors for the next hour?" His one hand continues its quest, sliding underneath her skirt to knead her ass and explore the hidden skin beneath the lacy frills of her panties. His other hand brushes her curls away from her neck so he can nip and suck, bite and lick the sensitive flesh behind her ear and down her shoulder.

"I did read the sign, and personally, I thought you might be doing a little overcompensating, or maybe some wishful thinking if you believe that anyone would actually expect your high and mightiness to be doing your own dirty work, let alone for an entire hour. And as I've told you before, I'm certainly not your inferior." She hooks one of her stiletto-ed feet around his ankle and bucks against his hold on her. The move would have landed him on his ass if she hadn't quickly turned and pressed her advantage, keeping him on his feet as his back collides against the opposite wall and.

"Gods, woman! I love it when you play dirty." He pulls her face to his, roughly sucking her lower lip in between his as he furiously works the buttons on her blouse. She's just as hungrily attacking his own shirt, but far ahead of him, yanking him closer to her by the tie she'd unknotted in a second flat. He moans when he sees the black lace bra that conceals exactly nothing, recognizing it and getting harder at the thought of the matching pair of panties she's wearing. She unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers, pushing them and his boxer briefs down just past his ass before maneuvering him to sit on the edge of the rickety work desk.

She doesn't even bother removing her skirt, just slides it all the way up to her waist. He stretches out a bit on the desk, getting comfortable and giving her room to straddle his lap. She follows him flawlessly, kneeling on either side of his thigh, digging her heels into his half-clothed flesh, rolling on the condom that he had waiting in his pants pocket, and keening as she lowers herself onto his aching cock. He thumbs at the black lace of her crotch-less panties, trying to think of anything except of how hot and tight and wet she is wrapped around his length. "Were you planning on getting fucked in the copy room, Ms. Swan? Bad form to be engaging in an office affair."

She grins at him wickedly, one hand cupping a breast and tweaking her pebbled nipple through the gauzy material, and the other working her clit through the slit in her panties. She looks wanton, but thoroughly in control, purring sinfully as she pleasures herself and rides him. "I'd be worried, counselor, except I'm _firmly_ convinced that someone on the human resources investigatory committee would be hard-pressed to find grounds on which to fire me. You could say I have him by the balls."

Killian growls and leans up, driving his hips into hers with several powerful thrusts that pry tiny whimpers from the back of her throat. He kisses her demandingly, tongue intruding into her mouth just as his cock roughly stretches and fills her dripping pussy. "And a few other choice parts too. Fuck, Swan! My office would be far more comfortable, and I'd personally love to vividly recall being buried deep in your cunt or hitting the back of your throat while I'm entertaining more boring clients. Would you like that, Swan? Say you'll be my intern; we wouldn't have to meet in the bloody copy room!"

Emma groans as he bites the tops of her breasts, moving quickly to her lace covered nipples and alternately sucking and licking them. "I'm not specializing in family law, Jones. An internship with you would be wasted."

Killian takes advantage of her distraction to lift her off his lap and flip them so that she is bent over the desk in front of him. He pins her there, pulling both of her arms behind her back and clinging to her wrists with one hand while the other guides his cock back to her entrance. He sinks in all the way, pulling a surprised yelp and another moan from her. "You're fucking brilliant, Swan, and Mills is wasting _your_ talents because she's a stuck-up bitch who can't stand the fact that she's not the young, sexy hotshot anymore. You. Belong, With. Me. I'd give you more courtroom time, more practical experience, and we'll still have plenty of time to fuck in the luxury of a private office. Stop being so stubborn woman, and say yes!"

She can't stop the sounds of pleasure coming from her mouth as he sets a brutal rhythm, even though she does her best to keep them quiet. A huge part of her knows that he's right, that it really doesn't matter whether she interns with him or with Ms. Mills; her program doesn't specify that they work for an attorney who specializes in the type of law they intend on practicing after graduation. But if someone like her suddenly starts working for someone like Killian, people are going to assume the worst—that she earned her internship and letters of recommendation on her knees. And for young lawyers trying to make a name for themselves, rumors like that are like blood in the water.

"It's—fuck! It's only five more weeks, Jones. If you want to hire me after my internship ends, then I'll consider it. But for now, just shut that pretty mouth of yours and fuck me like you mean it!" He obliges by grabbing a fistful of her hair, forcing her to arch her back for him; the new position of their bodies changes the angle of his thrusts, each one unerringly hitting her cervix and making her writhe and whimper. It's enough to have her whole body wound tight and begging for release, but not enough to make her shatter.

"I can do this all fucking day, Swan. Keep you here, orgasm just out of reach… I could fuck you six ways from Sunday and not let you come until you agreed. But then we'll be stuck in this bloody uncomfortable, inconvenient piece of shit room all bloody day! So, I'm going to give you the best fucking orgasm of your life, Swan. And then I'm going to walk out that bloody door, and I won't send you another bloody text. No more copy room rendezvous, Swan. No mid-day trysts to relieve the throbbing ache between your thighs. Every day, you'll have to come in here and make stupid bloody copies for Mills, and think about every time I've fucked you senseless in this room. Now, fucking come for me, Swan!"

Killian reaches around her body and instantly finds her clit, caressing it lovingly until she shudders and clamps furiously around him, her muscles fluttering as rapidly as hummingbird wings and as hard as a vice. His vision goes hazy around the edges, and he hears Emma's keening pants for breath with purely masculine, primal pride. It takes them both a while to come down from the high, her whimper at his withdraw from her soaking confines putting a smug grin on his face. He ties the condom in a knot, carefully placing it in the plastic bag he brought for the purpose. He buttons up his shirt and tucks it carefully into his pants before he straightens Emma's skirt for her.

He walks to the door with a bit of a spring in his step before her voice softly calling his name stops him. He turns and looks at her: her hair is a mess and the hazy after-glow of sex make her look positively wrecked. But even like this, she manages to best him. She carefully leans forward, giving him a great view of her breasts, and slowly slips her panties off. She struts over to where he stands by the door, leaning in to brush her chest against his. She kisses his cheek and slips her panties into his pocket. "Just in case the next five weeks get too lonely for you, Jones."

She unlocks the door, unceremoniously pushes him out, before closing the door and relocking it. With her own smirk, she grabs her blouse and does up the buttons with shaking fingers. For all her cheeky confidence, she's afraid that she's the one who will break first, desperate for her next fix of Killian Jones long before he even has time to miss one forgettable intern in a long string of forgettable office conquests.

It only takes until 9 pm that night, when he shows up at her apartment with a bottle of tequila and her panties in hand.


	2. Moments

**A/N: For CS AU week on Tumblr: Day #7 Whatever floats your Rolly Joger! (I couldn't resist!) I've actually had this mostly written and sitting in my documents folder since the premiere of 3.13. I was never completely happy with it, and then obviously Emma had to swing back to the polar opposite of her personality spectrum and completely regress... Anyway, I decided to take another swing at the ending at share it for the last day of AU week. So, technically, canon divergence in 3.12.**

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><p>"What the bloody blazes was that?!" Emma doesn't hesitate or ask how he managed to get up onto the roof so fast. He had probably waited a grand total of twenty seconds in her apartment before trailing them to the stairwell leading to the top of the building.<p>

"A reminder that I was never safe. That the life I was living for the past year is a lie. What I wanted, what I thought I could have, was not in the cards for the savior." It's only when his face falls and his whole body rocks backwards as if struck that she realizes the full extent of what she's just said. But she doesn't have time to apologize or worry about how he feels, because whatever or whoever is running the big cosmic cluster-fuck that is her world has never seemed willing to do so for her. "We leave in the morning."

She should have known that he wouldn't leave it at that—that he wouldn't let her just forget or avoid. She almost made it to the door before she heard him say her name. "Swan."

She freezes at the tender ache in his tone, like his heart is bleeding when hers is the one that's been battered and bruised yet again. No one else calls her Swan, and no one can breathe every ounce of faith and hope and pure emotion into one syllable like he can. No one has ever dared to try. She does her best to avoid his eyes, staring fixedly at her boots when he moves to stand in front of her. As always, he stands too close, and he wordlessly brings his fingers to brush her falling curls away from her cheek. "When you want something, Swan, you fight to get it or you fight to keep it. I told you in Neverland that I had never seen you fail, and I've yet to be proven wrong. Look at me, love. Will you ever have a life free from curses and magic and princes and pirates? Not a chance! But a life full of love and hope and happiness mixed in with all the bad? Aye, lass. I've not a doubt in my mind that you can have those things—that you _will_ have those things—if only you grasp those moments when they happen."

She sucks in a startled breath, wondering just how the _hell_ he does that! How does he manage to sound just like her father _and_ her son? How does he know just the right words? Her mind finds the answer in her heart, and her eyes find it in his. She's cut him with her words and wounded him with her love for Walsh—yet another man who lied and used her—but all she can see in every line of his face is her pain, her hurt, her needs. Time and again, he's come back for her; when _she_ needed him, no matter the cost, he came back. _I came back to save you._

And suddenly all that matters is letting him know that he isn't alone in how he feels. She brings her left hand up, taking his and pressing it fully against her cheek, leaning into the warmth of his palm before lifting her eyes to his and letting him see the desire and longing for him that's never truly been that far from the surface. It may have been a year, but in her true memories it only seems like a matter of days; her lips remember and welcome the soft warmth of his. Her fingers search out and find the surprising silk of his hair, anchoring herself to him. The burning passion is still there, waiting to be stoked to roaring life, but he's taking his time with this kiss like he wants to savor the moment and irrevocably fix every nuance in his mind. And to his surprise, she lets him.

She lets him lead, gives him the power to plunder and ravage if he wishes. Instead, he lingers. He gently teases, worships her mouth, and honors the trust she's given him in revealing herself. Even at their unhurried pace, he finally runs out of breath enough to feel dizzy and pulls away to place a reverent kiss on her forehead.

But Emma's patience apparently has its limits, and he finds himself being reeled in once again by her fisted hand in his collar and a firm tug on his hair. The details and the particulars are rather vague, yet somehow they manage to make it back down to her apartment. (Although, he does remember later that there were quite a number of walls between here and the roof that one or the other of them ended slammed up against and kissed breathless.) The second she locks the door, Killian deftly lifts the coat from her shoulders and lets it slither to the floor. She breaks their kiss long enough to wrap one long leg around his waist and jump into his arms; he catches her easily, whimpering as their hips grind in unison to create desired friction and immediately striding toward her bedroom.

He kicks the door shut behind him, toeing off his boots much faster than she'd have thought possible before letting them fall onto the bed. Lips still fused and tongues still twining and stroking in perfect synchronicity, he carefully tugs her boots off and tosses them carelessly to the floor. He breaks their kiss abruptly, his hand cupping her cheek and his thumb dragging along her chin and lower lip. "Look at me, Swan."

She opens her eyes, struck by the serious intensity of his glare; he's searching, reading and mapping every line of her face for even a trace of doubt. "Being a fucking gentleman should be the last thing on my mind, but I won't cock it up between us by having a misunderstanding later. This—us—it's everything to me, love. Now is your last chance: do you want this?"

Her doubts and insecurities, her fears and hard-won cautiousness should all be screaming at her right now. She should be running already, but she's pinned there by more than just the weight and gravity of his body. She doesn't need to feel the hot length of him against her thigh or the uncontrollable shivers skittering along her spine as his scruff and teeth and tongue tease the sensitive hollow just below her ear. Ever since she opened her door three days ago and found him standing there like a lost puppy who found his way home, she felt the tug and pull of her heart toward him—a part of her that Walsh could never touch and that recognized it's other half, cursed memories be damned! She rolls her hips, not to distract him, but to welcome and entice.

"I can't promise that I won't be scared tomorrow, but I promise not to run. And considering that this is the last night before the shit storm of being the Savior hits, I want to live in this moment with you more than anything." The fierce glow of happiness in his eyes and the triumphant flash of his smile practically blind her. She's already terrified of what she means to him, and giving in will probably only complicate things. But now, here with him—something unknown within her, demanding to be heard, keeps repeating over and over that this is right. That _HE_ is right. He may not have his hook, but it doesn't take him long to rip every piece of clothing from her body. She briefly thanks her lucky stars that she wasn't overly attached to that outfit, but then his lips start fires all along her skin and drive every thought out of her mind. He puts his hand to good use, first one finger and then two burying themselves in her pussy. She arches her body into his, desperate to buck him off and take control or at the least to increase the delicious friction.

"So wantonly impatient, Emma; so abandoned and beyond control… Tell me something, love, did he ever make you come like this? Desperate, your pretty pink cunny so slick and wet and wanting? Greedy little lips lapping up the attention? I'll bet he could never fully satisfy you, Swan. Not when your tight cunt responds for me like this. Say it, Swan. Tell me what I want to know." She throws back her head keening as he hits that perfect spot that has her seeing stars. She's almost there, cruelly hovering right on the edge of orgasm, but unable to fall. Her thighs and stomach clench while she thrashes her head back and forth across her pillows, when Killian slides a third finger in. And god! He hasn't even touched her clit yet!

"I'll let you come when you tell me what I want to hear, Emma. And then I'm going to taste you, make you come with just my mouth, but only once you beg for it." She cries out in frustration, wanting to fall and stay at the peak at the same time.

"No! No one! _Never_! Jesus, _fuck_—Killian, please!" All it takes is a gentle brush of his thumb to send sparks racing along her nerve endings. She wonders whether she should be embarrassed, impressed, or thanking whoever taught him everything he knows. As she comes down from her high, she watches him touch and marvel at her body. The expression on his face can't be described—lascivious and dirty as a skin magazine, yet filled with the same innocent awe of a boy opening presents. She feels deliciously used and fiercely cherished all at once.

Suddenly aware of her gaze, his eyes lock with hers; his grin widens, putting her in mind of some pagan god of mischief and sex. "Truly, love, have you any idea how magnificent you are?"

Emma lifts an eyebrow in fair imitation of him. "Says the man who just fingered me to the best orgasm I've ever had? Are you planning on talking all night or do you intend to fuck me?"

A dark edge hardens the blue of his eyes before he growls and pins her body with his. The cool drag of the leather against her already sensitive clit and slick sex has her muscles clenching and fluttering in aftershocks and is a stark contrast to the warm scratch of his linen shirt and the heat of his chest pressed against her torso. His grip on her jaw borders on rough, but only because she jerks her head when she tries to look away from his passionate glare. "You've a filthy mouth, for a princess. And the answer is yes, Emma; I have every intention of fucking you until the only names you remember are your own…and mine. But I ask that you don't attempt to cheapen this for either of us, aye?"

She whimpers and arches her body when he punctuates his request with a roll of his hips, enjoying the leashed strength that makes itself known in the pressure of his thumb along her chin and the tensing of his fingers around her throat. His grin takes on a less feral, more playful cast as he begins to whisper and brush his lips across her skin. "We have all night, Swan. And while I definitely plan on making you scream, I also plan on worshipping you, adoring you, praising you, caressing you, giving you so much pleasure that you just might beg me to stop before you expire from the terrifying ecstasy of it all. Because if this truly is the last chance I am allowed to touch you freely for a while, I want to make it count, to show you all that can be between us."

Careful to never stop looking directly in her eyes, he flicks his tongue out against her mound and then her clit. The muscles of her thighs clench automatically, wanting to clamp down on his head and force him to stay where he is. She's always thought it chauvinistic and crude when guys referred to oral as "eating out," but there's something undeniably hungry in Killian's eyes that makes the phrase suddenly make perfect sense. And the thought of being longed for and desired like that is empowering and sexy as fuck! He sighs, letting his breath gently caress her skin before sealing his mouth around her sex. The sounds that come from his throat should be illegal and so should his exquisite technique. The same presence and passion that he puts into kissing her goes into the amazing way he pleasures her with his tongue.

She can feel his movements through her body when he tugs loose the laces of his trousers and again when he strokes himself while still driving her mad. Seeing him naked and being the one to bring _him_ mind-numbing pleasure become as necessary as breathing. "Please, Killian! I know we have all night, but I want you inside me. Let me—oh, god!—need you so much it hurts. Please."

Emma's voice is far more desperate than she wants it to be, but she knows that he'll make good on his threat to have her begging. Yet at the same time, she knows and accepts on a visceral, instinctual level that only with him have her weaknesses and vulnerabilities ever been entirely safe; she may not be good with words, but if a few of them can help show him what he does to her and how he makes her feel, then she's willing to risk it. She'll take the risk of a blow to her pride if it means revealing the extent of her trust in him. "Oh, but you taste sinfully delicious, Swan."

She yelps when he sucks on her clit. "Divinely decadent… What inducements are there for me to stop feasting?"

She bites her lip and moans; he's begun timing his strokes along his shaft with the flex of his tongue against her walls, and knowing that he's hard and ready for her and everything she wants is absolute torture. So she gives away another inch and starts talking. "Because I'm asking you… Because every time I look into your eyes and I can see exactly how you feel about me, I just can't understand it. And because as much as you have hope, you're afraid that I can't feel anything good for you; and you're wrong, because I see so much that's good about you. Because you found me and you came back, and no one has ever done that for me except for you. And words can lie and deceive, but actions can't, and I want to show you just how much what you done—what _you_ mean to me."

Emma never thought that she'd ever see the day where Killian Jones was at a loss for words; every emotion can be easily read as it passes over him—curiosity, anger, self-loathing, despair, incredulity, wonder, joy, loneliness, yearning, love. The last chills her, sinks talons of fear into her heart despite the fact that she's seen it and recognized it since the instant he fully realized how much he loved her. But she can't deny it anymore, and a part of her ardently wants him to know that as frightened as she is, she feels the same way about him. She may not be ready or able to say the words, it may seem like it's all too soon, but pretending that he doesn't own her heart is no longer an option.

His expression finally settles into something nearly as terrifying as the love he's never been able to hide from her: awe. Like after years and years of searching, he's at last discovered the single greatest treasure in the world—and he intends on cherishing it forever and never letting go. He crawls up her body faster than she would have given him credit for, and then he's exploring her mouth with an exquisite tenderness. His distracted worship of her lips with his allows Emma to flip them over, so that she's on top, but he refuses to let her get that far from him. He sits up, cradling her between his slightly raised knees and his chest.

They finally break the kiss, Killian's hand caressing her cheek and the golden locks that have fallen around her face. Ever the gentleman, he lets her take control—lets her position his cock at her entrance before sliding down his shaft. His eyes are locked on hers, so that she can see the absolute wrecked devastation he feels once he's fully inside her; and he can see the bittersweet bliss on her face, the pained ecstasy that comes from being filled and stretched and completed in such a primal way. He thrusts his hips up and rotates them, invading her those final, impossible inches that send white starbursts across her now closed eyelids and sparks of electricity along the nerves of her sex.

Their rhythm remains slow at first, savoring the delicious friction and drag of skin on skin; their blood sings through them, hearts pounding in an increasingly erratic beat that urges them to move faster, to chase swift pleasure. But this moment has been too long in coming for either of them to wish to hurry it along. Killian's gaze travels down her body in a nearly tangible caress, tightening the already puckered buds of her nipples and causing her flesh to tingle. He kisses her hard, yet quickly, hand finally sliding from its place on her cheek to the smooth curves of her stomach and hips. He maps out her body with reverent delicacy, committing her skin to memory before confidently caressing the small pearl above where they are joined.

"Let me feel what I do to you, love. Every night I dreamed of you, rising above me like a golden goddess; I dreamed of fucking you under the stars, of pleasuring you senseless in every single bloody room of your parents' castles, of stretching beside you in a forest glade and making love to you as the sunlight caressed your skin. I woke hard and aching every morning, spilling into my hand so fast it was embarrassing! But I never imagined how utterly glorious it would feel to be buried in your quim like this. You are a bloody marvel—the perfect temptress, Emma. Tell me it's just as good for you; tell me you feel it too."

His words have the strangest effect on her, making her want to simultaneously burst into tears and to tie him to the bed and fuck him until they both collapse unconscious and exhausted. But more than this, she feels an undeniable urge to answer him in the most unequivocal way possible. She slows her pace, placing one of her palms against his prickly cheek and using the other to take his hand and press it to her heart, gently yet firmly flexing her sheath around his cock as she inches down. "This is what you do to me, Killian Jones. You make me want to take my time, to slow down, to make love to you. You make me afraid, because you've managed to get inside my walls and see me, and the only other men who have done that have ended up hurting me. But you also make me brave enough to risk the hurt; you make me believe that I can trust you."

In all that they had gone through and all that they will go through in the future, Emma has yet to witness a thoroughly unattractive sight of Killian Jones; yet when his smile spreads across his entire face and tears of relief and joy begin to gather in his eyes, she knows that he's never been more devastatingly, breathtakingly _beautiful_. And after he makes love with her for hours, including a steamy and unexpected quickie while showering, they stagger back to her bed to deliciously twine about each other before slipping off to dreamless sleep.


	3. Ready, Set, Kill

Written for today's Chinx's Hiatus Prompt Challenge on Tumblr. (Manip is darker in tone and has Emma's face liberally splotched with blood) M for mentions of violence.

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><p>She'd thought she was ready. She thought she had mentally and physically and emotionally prepared for this day for the last ten years. Betrayal alone would have made her angry enough to kill, but it was everything else, all the clinging threads spun from that single act that pushed her from blind hatred to focused determination. Every person she met while in prison became a possible lead into finding him or a connection to those who could or would help her get rid of him. And the criminal underworld had eventually led her to the real underworld, introduced her to the creatures that did more than just go bump in the night. And finally to the man standing here in the room with her—three corpses that walked into a bar and only two that remain standing.<p>

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He'd thought he was ready. After finding his Swan among the lost souls who came looking for his kind as a fix for their latest hit—sex, adrenaline from the danger and daring, endorphins from being bitten, or as the ultimate, final thrill—he'd seen in an instant what she truly wanted and all that they could be together. Claiming her as his and making her _vampyr_ was a foregone conclusion for him, but for her it had taken time. He'd earned her trust slowly by teaching her how to use a weapon, how to fight any human opponent, how to kill her own kind. The trainer and student relationship evolved until they had become a team, not entirely equal in their strengths but made perfect partners because of complimentary weaknesses. And when she'd finally shared her story, he'd been prepared to instantly find and slaughter the cowardly human who hurt and abandoned her like that. A timely distraction on her part had kept him by her side.

Then, after he'd turned her and while they'd searched for the wretched scum, he'd taught her the finer arts of torture passed down to him by his old human master Francis Walsingham. He'd thought he was prepared to watch her do this—to snare and entice her former lover, to lure him in with the false glamour and her siren's voice into closing down his pathetic little bar and letting her stay. He'd thought he could idly stand in the shadows while she'd carved names and words into his skin. But the instant before she was overcome with the need for blood he was there at her side, taking a clean blade and slicing open the vein above her collarbone and pressing her mouth to it. And gods!—the sweetness of it all! Sharing blood was never as poignant, never as intense as the first bonding between sire and fledge, but dear gods his Swan made it feel just as erotic, just as intimate.

And yet there was fear in her eyes when she pulled away after reestablishing her control. The vile dreg tied to the pool table began whimpering and the stench of feces and urine hit his nose, causing him to sneer and recoil in distaste. Emma looked away, back down at the broken wretch, and Killian felt her shame hit him like a solid wave. With a growl of frustration, he spun her around and gripped her face in an unbreakable grip. If she were still fragile, still human, he would have cracked her jaw and left livid bruises on her cheeks. "That was for him, darling. Not for you—never for you. If you need blood, just ask; I want no part of him to leave this place when we're done playing."

His kiss was violent and thorough, fangs piercing the still tender flesh of her lips as his tongue invaded and pillaged every inch of her mouth. Their moans of desire and the scent of their lust overrode all else, erasing their victim and location from their minds completely. "And never think I could be repulsed by you, Swan. I'm a fan of every part of you."

Her answering grin, fangs extended and teeth tinged pink with blood, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.


End file.
